


The Clark Kent Effect

by wishforwishes



Category: Harry Styles (Musician)
Genre: Derogatory Language, Disguise, Face-Fucking, Glasses, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Objectification, Prostitution, Prostitution Roleplay, yep there's both
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:48:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24153082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishforwishes/pseuds/wishforwishes
Summary: "You’re too pretty to be stuck working street corners."A misunderstanding engenders a very poor decision.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 46
Collections: Accessory Fest 2020





	The Clark Kent Effect

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! The accessory I chose was Harry's Gucci reading glasses. I thought it might be fun to put one of his most granny-chic looks into a sexualized context. Only time will tell whether I succeed or failed. Regardless, I hope you all enjoy :) Please mind the tags, and give this a miss if you think it might trigger you. Much love!

It wasn’t intended to be a disguise, but it couldn’t rightly be called anything else. 

Everything that made him ‘Harry Styles’ was muted or covered up. The long-sleeved hoodie dress hid his tattoos, the thick winter tights were a departure from his staple flared trousers, and the dorky pink reading glasses all combined to make him...well, still recognizable to most people. But amongst certain crowds — for instance, a bar for the surly, blue-collar kind of straight man who took pride in knowing nothing about shit like One Direction — he passed as fairly nondescript. 

With the added effects of kitten heels, an immaculate manicure, and carefully applied makeup behind those reading glasses, he also passed, possibly, just maybe, in the right light, as a woman. 

Harry was ambivalent about that possibility, given the circumstances. 

Gemma would be having an aneurysm if she knew he was in a place like this (or at least, if she knew his reason for being there). 

She’d made him swear to take things slow before starting to date again; she was convinced that otherwise, he’d end up in a rebound because he didn’t give himself time to properly process his breakup with Camille. 

“Seriously, you know you’re going to think you’ve fallen in love and found the ‘one’ the first time you sleep with someone new. And then when you come to your senses in a couple months you’ll feel embarrassed and guilty.”

It was sound advice, and even if it was a little harsh, he couldn’t exactly dispute it.

Harry promised to put a moratorium on hook ups until he felt he was over Camille. Of course, as hook-ups were how he usually got over his relationships failing, he wasn’t really sure what else he was supposed to do, beyond writing more music and getting steadily more sulky. 

Before he knew it, it was nearly winter, he still didn’t feel like he’d fully moved on, and he hadn’t been laid in almost half a year. Drastic action was necessary. 

He was still going to keep his promise to Gemma in a way, by avoiding a rebound. But he was going to break it, in another kind of way, by doing something monumentally stupider. Not that he knew the full extent of that stupidity yet.

Harry’s only plan upon entering the bar was to hook up with someone that he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt he wouldn’t become infatuated with or desire any kind of future relationship from. Someone who looked at him and didn't see  _ Harry Styles _ and all of the baggage that came from that. 

He wanted to be as much a stranger to them as they were to him. He was initially worried that he’d gone too far in his quest: even if he looked like a woman from a distance, up close he'd still probably be clocked as a guy by most of the patrons here, and chances were they wouldn't be very happy about that. 

His fears seemed to be confirmed when he took a seat at the bar and got sized up by the bartender before he could even order a drink. 

"Huh. Haven't seen you come in before.” It sounded less an observation and more an accusation, especially since the bartender didn’t wait for a reply before whispering, conspiratorially, “You should know that pretty boys turning tricks aren’t gonna get a warm welcome around here."

Harry stiffened, his heart suddenly pounding in the top of his throat like he’d been doing yoga and gotten stuck in an inverted pose. 

The man held his hands up in an appeasing gesture. 

"Hey, you’ve got nothing to worry about from me. I’m trying to keep you safe, okay? You go asking some of the regulars here if they have enough pocket change for a back-alley blowie, you’re gonna end up with a faceful of pint glass shards."

"I’m not—" Harry started, offended, and then let his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth, keeping the rest of his denial at bay. 

He’d wanted to get out of his head and feel like someone else for a bit, hadn’t he? 

"Thank you for your concern," he said instead, pivoting. "It’s a bit too cold for my...er...usual haunts, so I thought I’d try somewhere inside. My mistake."

"That seems a damn shame," the barkeep said. 

Fantastic. Harry had clearly tripped and fallen into an after school special, and this random man was about to tell him he shouldn't be selling his body. But then:

"You’re too pretty to be stuck working street corners, winter or not."

Harry stared at him. 

"What’s your name?" he asked slowly. 

"You can call me Will," the bartender said, extending his hand across the counter for Harry to shake. "What about you?" 

Will, it turned out, had meaty and calloused hands, palms that looked like they could spread as wide as a starfish, and as strong a grip as one could expect from someone as rough looking as him — a grip that swallowed Harry’s hand into almost nothingness. 

"I'm Alex," Harry said, and immediately winced. But it was the only name besides his own that he'd ever learned to answer to, so this off-the-cuff subterfuge could be going worse. 

"Not really the name I’d expect from a hooker, but then I wouldn’t expect one to be wearing glasses either."

Harry must have gone round the twist, because he found himself delighted by the meanness of it, now that he knew there was no accompanying threat. Instead, it was like an extra bit of proof that he really didn’t know who Harry was.

"It’s all part of the look," Harry said, releasing Will’s hand to adjust his glasses. Like he was trying to imply he was some sort of sexy librarian-themed prostitute. What was he  _ doing _ ?

Will raised an eyebrow, and then slowly — exaggeratedly tracking his eyes down so Harry could see he was doing it — checked him out. 

"Well. It’s a good look, Alex."

Okay. So, that answered that question. 

"So, Will," Harry said, instantly sinking into the gaze and letting his upper body extend across the bar, until he was in Will's personal space. "You said none of your customers would be interested in what I’m selling. But what about you?"

"Well, I'm sure  _ some _ of them would be. I'm not trying to insult your hustle or anything. Just might not be safe of you to take that gamble."

That might have come off as a deflection, had he not immediately followed it up with:

"And yeah. I’d let you suck me off. Might even pay you for it, although it seems to me like you might be the type of businessman who gives out freebies when he’s really enjoying his work."

Harry saw quite clearly that this was his last opportunity to back out of this conversation without getting in over his head. He saw that chance, and watched it go by.

With one manicured middle finger, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and leaned in even closer. 

“Maybe you should have someone else cover the bar for you for a while, and you can find out the exact kind of businessman I am.”

Then he turned and walked away, towards the employees-only exit of the bar — one that must lead to the back alley Will had mentioned. 

Harry didn’t glance back around to see if Will actually was getting someone to take over the bar for him. He didn’t  _ have _ to look. He knew he’d follow him out eventually. 

Now Harry just had to figure out how much a sex worker would charge for a transaction like this.

***

Harry kept his glasses on. He wasn’t sure how much they were actually concealing his identity, but it made this whole crazy venture feel the smallest bit safer, somehow — or more removed from himself, at least. 

It also, ironically, made things harder to see. Once Will had crowded in close, the lenses fogged up almost instantly. Harry’s other senses heightened to compensate; the brick wall chafing against his back felt rougher, the busy noises from the bar directly behind them sounded louder, and the chatter of people down the street seemed so much closer. 

There was a gate keeping anyone from turning down the alley, but Harry was hyper aware that everyone who passed by was one perfectly angled glance away from seeing him on his knees with a throat full of cock, one fist still clenched around the ten quid note that Will had given him before shoving him to the ground. 

It was simultaneously the most vulnerable and most powerful Harry had felt in a long time. 

When he was with Camille (whenever he was dating someone, really) he was always worried their relationship would be damaged by what other people saw and said and thought about it. He’d gotten so caught up in playing things close to his chest that the worry itself had ended up  _ causing _ the damage. 

He wasn’t worried about any of that now. It was a relief, to be with a stranger who saw him as even less than that — as just something to be used on a quick break from his job, no different from ducking into the alley to smoke a fag.

Will’s huge hands were holding his head in a vice grip, dragging him on and off his cock rather than thrusting forward. Harry had vaguely hoped that Will’s meanness in the bar might translate well to dirty talk, but the reality — complete silence besides his grunts and the occasional gagging sounds from Harry’s mouth when his dick forced itself a little too deep — was almost better. It made it even more impersonal. 

Will didn’t even speak up to warn him he was about to come. He just tightened his hold on Harry’s hair and finally shoved his hips forward, pinning him flat against the wall and then coming so far down his throat Harry couldn’t even taste it. 

Then he actually patted him on the shoulder once he’d finished and stepped back. When he noticed Harry spluttering and coughing, he dug around in his apron and fished out a greasy napkin, offering it up like a handkerchief. 

“No thanks,” Harry croaked, waving him off. 

“Suit yourself. I gotta get back to the bar, or Drew’s gonna get suspicious.”

And then Will turned to leave, just like that. 

“Wait!” Harry didn’t know why he was so desperate to prolong this encounter. He didn’t have any illusions that Will was interested in returning the favor. But he could sense there was still an opportunity for something here; he just had to work out what it was. 

“What — er, what excuse did you give Drew about why he had to cover?” 

“Funny you should ask that. I told him I had to step out and get my dick sucked by a pretty little rentboy. He said he’d cover for me as long as I asked said rentboy if he could go next.” 

Harry stared up at him in shock.

Will had the grace to rub his head, a little embarrassed. Harry could tell this was not a feeling he typically experienced. 

“I wasn’t actually going to ask you, obviously. I was just gonna go back inside and tell Drew he was out of luck.”

This was it. This was the opportunity — the culmination of events Harry had walked into this bar to get to, unknowing at the time. He could feel his body flood with adrenaline. 

“No, you should send him out.” 

He said it quickly, before his self-preservation instincts could switch back on. His voice was still crackly, and a little thrill went through him imagining, if it sounded like that after one cock, how it would fare later on. How it would sound if — 

“Actually,” he continued, ignoring the voice of reason (one that usually spoke in Jeff’s voice and was currently screaming and running about in a panic), “since you apparently know your customers so well, why don’t you have an ask around about which of them  _ would  _ be okay with letting me suck them off.” 

Will rubbed his chin, making a show out of seeming unsure. 

“I don’t know. Kind of seems like that would be a lot of work for me to do, in addition to running the bar. I’d have to get some of your earnings, probably. Just to be fair.”

“Well, turns out you were right about me liking my work enough to work for free on some days. So you can keep half of it.” 

Will grinned.


End file.
